


Liquid Courage

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [111]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Captains have a built-in parent instinct and you can't change my mind, Drinking & Talking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25242757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Everyone keeps their secrets in different places. Some keep them in their bellies, some in their chests, some in their throats.James T. Kirk keeps his secrets under his tongue.
Relationships: Crew of the Starship Enterprise & James T. Kirk, James T. Kirk & Christopher Pike
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [111]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 6
Kudos: 92





	Liquid Courage

**Author's Note:**

> actual space dad pike confirmed

Fandom: Star Trek

Prompt: “Say it. Go on.”

* * *

Just from looking at him, you wouldn’t think Jim Kirk has a lot of secrets. The man talks _constantly,_ he’s almost enough to drown out the emptiness of space by himself. Add in the fact that he surrounds himself with people that bounce off each other easier than running anti-matter through dilithium crystals and you’ve got yourself one hell of a chatterbox bridge.

Jim talks all the time. Doesn’t mean he’s saying a whole lot.

Bones described it once when they were way too drunk on brandy that had totally been acquired through diplomatic means and not through experimenting with Scotty in the labs. A lot of people say what they mean, Jim means what he says. There’s a subtle difference there, not one that many people catch. Most people translate what they have in their heads into words of some sort. Jim takes words and fashions them into proper manifestations of what’s in his head.

Yeah, he doesn’t really know what Bones was on about either. It made sense when they were drunk.

People carry their secrets in different places. Some people keep them in their bellies, safe deep inside them, where the furthest reaches of breath can barely get their whimsical fingertips on it. Some people keep them in their chests, nestled right next to their hearts, secure behind their ribcage. Some people stored them in their throats, next to the vocal chords, right where no one would ever think to look.

Jim keeps his under his tongue.

Every time something would bubble up and he’d want to say it, say something he _knew_ he could never take back, it was easy work to shuffle it under his tongue and say something else instead. For him, it was the last line of defense sort of thing, a no-man’s-land. And every time he would feel a sharp twinge in his neck, right when his tongue lay. The underside of his chin would grow heavy, twisted, bloated by how many secrets lay there. Later, Jim could swallow them, back down his throat, but they always came back, to nestle right under his tongue.

He didn’t want to explain why, that was one of the secrets. He didn’t want to explain how, that was another secret. And he definitely didn’t want to explain what he was so desperate to hide.

There’s a reason they say alcohol loosens your tongue. Really, it was only a matter of time.

Christopher Pike’s ability to find Jim is something he will never understand. Honestly, he’s half-convinced the man has a tracker on him or something.

“Something happen,” Jim says from his perch on the railing, “or you just regularly come over here?”

Pike chuckles as he joins Jim in leaning over the rail. This bar is on the outskirts of San Francisco, so a decent trek—“I’m hilarious, shut up,”—and almost no one comes outside to drink.

“Well, I thought: now, if I were a young captain that didn’t want to be a captain for a night, where would I go?” Pike gestures between them. “And here we are.”

Jim huffs lightly into his drink. The man’s not wrong. He sees Pike glance at him again out of the corner of his eye and _feels_ the gaze travel up and down.

“So,” Pike says, facing the city sprawled beneath them, “what brings you out here, Jim?”

“Things,” Jim says.

“Ah. Vague and dissuading, my favorite combination.”

“Well, you’d know.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?”

Jim shakes his head, already forgetting why the hell he said that. Was it just because he’s drunk and it’s one of his preprogrammed dialogue options? Probably. “Nevermind. Forget it.”

He hears a clink as Pike sets his drink down and winces. He knows the captainly instinct to protect better than anyone and he _knows_ that move. Judging by the way Pike chuckles again, he knows he’s been spotted.

“Come on, Jim,” Pike coaxes, “you know better than that.”

“Do I, though?”

“You do,” comes the soft confirmation, “you know you do. And you know why I’m here, son.”

Ah. The ‘son’ card. Jim’s never quite been able to pull that one off.

A gentle tap on his shoulder. “You’re bursting over there, Jim. I can see it.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Now we both know that isn’t true.” A moment passes. “Look at me, Jim.”

“Is that an order?”

“You know it’s not.”

Jim curses. For someone who’s so hell-bent on keeping his secrets, well, _secret,_ he caves way too easily. He looks.

Pike stares at him, a small smile coming over his features. “Hey, Jim.”

“Hi.”

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Not particularly, no.”

Pike tuts. “You can do better than that too.”

Jim looks away, his jaw clenching. The secrets are back, right under his tongue, his skin twinging painfully. He doesn’t know what to do. When he looks back, Pike’s still staring at him, face full of concern.

“Say it,” he coaxes gently, “go on.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can, Jim,” Pike murmurs, “it’s gonna hurt more if you keep ‘em all in there.”

He’s right. Jim knows he’s right but he’s so not used to talking that it hurts.

Pike picks up his own drink and takes a swig, and it’s only then that Jim realizes he’s empty.

“Here.”

Jim frowns when Pike offers his hand. “What?”

“Your glass, Jim,” Pike says, a smile still crinkling the corner of his eyes. Jim gives it blankly, watching Pike disappear back into the bar and emerge with a full glass and…another?

“What’s this,” Jim asks warily as he accepts the smaller glass.

“Truth serum.”

“Excuse me?”

Pike laughs. “It’s just schnapps, Jim.”

“Ah.”

“Knock it back.”

“What?”

Pike shrugs, lifting his own glass. “Liquid courage, right?”

Jim nods. He…he _should_ get these out, shouldn’t he?

“If you don’t want to tell me,” Pike says softly, “you don’t have to. We can drink and complain about Starfleet Command—“ Jim snorts— “and you can walk away at any time.”

And that’s what he’s always done. It’s easy. But….maybe easy isn’t what he needs right now.

“…or?”

“Or,” Pike says quietly, nodding to the glass, “you can knock that back and not have to be a captain tonight.”

On a starship, the Captain is the first and last line of defense. They are in charge, the buck stops with them. But that means they don’t have the luxury of someone to…keep their secrets. They’ve got their hands full with everyone else’s and that’s not how a command structure is supposed to work.

Jim doesn’t really want to be a captain tonight.

Pike raises his glass and Jim knocks it back. It burns. The cage dissolves. Pike steps a little closer.

“Say it,” he encourages gently, “go on. It’s okay, son.”

Jim opens his mouth and speaks.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


End file.
